British politics and the sorry souls we elect to represent us is in a seriously depressed and gloomy state – and that’s a fact.
In five months the entire system will be on its knobbly knees. Wrecked, broken, split with no real direction.
On the 7th of May we are going to have a general election in this country and whether you like politics or not it’s going to be one of those events that will make history. But not a sort of landslide heroic stuff of Attlee – quite the opposite. This will be a depressed, blackened smudge of a story hidden in the tale of our once great nation.
The fractured, shattered, glued together Conservative party which is already split apart over Europe could actually break in two – producing separate parties all together.
Farage who is in this for his own gain will only have a short term and temporary effect on the political scene. His party is akin to a few pissed middle-aged, middle-class mates cooking up some daft scheme in a garden shed in Surbiton. Dear, boozed to the gills, Nigel will rattle us all up for a few months, then fart loudly and fizzle into a nothing. He will then spend the rest of his days in the same shed, making dodgy home-made beer and telling his bored and boring ageing mates about the ‘old days when we showed them how to do politics’.
The Liberal Democrats will be wiped out with its leader, Nick Clegg, losing his Sheffield Hallam seat. His political gravestone will be deeply engraved with the words: ‘Alas poor Nicholas – Thou said Sorry but twas never enough’.
And while we gasp and snigger at Nick’s demise a new coalition, excluding Clegg’s dead party, will be in the making.
The extremely aged unelected head of state, revelling her longevity of holding her pointless position, will be reluctantly dragged out, dusted off, to make a dutiful appearance. The old dear will ask some poor soul to form a government and then, grasping the family jewels, she’ll creep quietly back into the shadows for her 20 Woodbines and a treble G&T.
The only winners of the ‘Peculiar 7th’ will be the Scottish. It is they who will hold the power of balance and decision in Westminster. Dear reader, don’t underestimate our friends north of the border. They will, whether you like it not, creep up, give us tap a on the shoulder and bite us on the bum.
So! Rejoice England!
We, the poor downtrodden electorate will drag our poor, depressed, weary bodies to the polling station. Only to discover next day we are governed by a Woolworth’s Pick’n’Mix of political pundits stacked up and held together by a confident, slightly cocky, fresh and sparky collection of Scots raring to take this town apart.